Red vs Blue: Project Hetalia
by Kitcat14
Summary: Based around all seasons of Red vs Blue, the hilarity ensues as both teams encounter what is supposed to be impossible. Turns out the Freelancers are not only skilled in practically everything, but are also the embodiment of states. And what do they want with the mysterious blue armor chick that showed up? And who the hell is Alfred F. Jones? Rated T: Innuendos, cursing, some B/B.
1. Somewhere Over the Rainbow

**A/N**: It's mostly centered around Blood Gulch—first Red vs. Blue fic, so correct me on terms if I'm wrong. I do also center on Earth because of Hetalia, but rarely. To those unfamiliar to Hetalia, you'll understand as the story moves forward. As for Red vs. Blue, you're on one heck of a joy ride. **I don't own Red vs. Blue nor Hetalia, they go to their respective owners**.

**Some warnings**: Does contain boy/boy pairings, as well as boy/girl. BL is only with Hetalia characters, though there are a few hints with the boys ((coughDonutcough)). As always, Tex ((the badass)) is paired with Church ((Alpha…Epsilon)).

And I apologize for the OOCness, I'm still not familiar with Red vs. Blue.

As for the story line of Red vs. Blue, I'm mixing some things up. Donut is still there, Lopez is still a head, but Sarge isn't there. Church is still alive ((alpha)) and Caboose is still an idiot. Not much change other than a few mistakes due to the author's confusion and unfamiliarity to RvB. There's going to be the Meta, agent Washington, Carolina and all of the other Freelancers that are named and that I am kind of familiar about…and just for kicks, O'Malley still possess Caboose. I also, decided to tweak some things.

I'm addressing most of the nations to their human names, only because it'll be easier until the time comes. Also, I haven't exactly mapped out the plot…^^; so, so far it's going to be random until I can focus. Also, this, like my other stories, hasn't been beta'd yet. ^^;

I hope you'll enjoy it.

As for those who were looking forward for me to update on Avenger's Impossible and Hetalia Hero's, I apologize for the inconvenience. They'll be on hiatus, until further notice. I apologize again.

* * *

"Fuck," curses Simmons, staring at the Warthog. It has been a week since it was damaged by the Blue team, and Sarge is still on a trip to who knows. He'd get Lopez to help, but the robot is still a fucking head, and he still speaks fucking Spanish. You'd think Sarge would have fixed the voice transmitter by now.

Donut comes over and looks at the Warthog for a moment. "Have fun. I'm so totally going to decorate the Warthog. It could be lighten up—looking all dreary for the past week."

Simmons glowers at Donut in apprehension, but one can't tell because of the armor he's in. "Fucking gay-tard," he mutters when the guy in pink walks away with an unusual bounce. It should be physically and mentally impossible to be that gay. He missed the days when Donut wore a red armor—and was certainly not gay.

From the other side of the base, one can see Griff, lazing around, trying to avoid work as always.

One the other side of Blood Gulch is Tucker, sulking about. This is the first month anniversary since his baby went missing. "Junior junior," he groans.

Church just stares at him. "Good riddance. That disgusting thing is gone."

Tucker looks at him, aghast. "He's my baby!"

"That's fucking unnatural." _How the fuck did he have a fucking baby,_ Church thinks, _does God hate us?_

"Church! I found something!" Says Caboose, jogging up to his proclaimed best friend. "It's brown, and weird…"

Church sighs. "Lead on."

They come to a body—just a body there's no helmet to it. And Caboose is right, the armor is brown. "I think he's dead," Caboose says softly.

"No fucking shit. He doesn't have a head."

"Bow-chicka-bow-wow," Tucker cuts in.

Church pointily ignores Tucker's inclination to be obscene. He bends down to examine the body. "It looks familiar," he mutters.

While he's distracted, Caboose turns to Tucker. "He's my best friend."

"If we die," starts Tucker, "I blame you."

"You'll be the first to die," Caboose says darkly.

Tucker sweat drops. "Church, he's doing the scary thing again."

"Shut the fuck up!" Church turns around to face Caboose. "Take it to the base."

"What are we going to do with it?" Caboose asks.

"I don't know. Fix it? See what it is? Make a new friend?" Church is getting tired of this. If only something interesting would happen.

"I like a new friend." He carries the body back to the base, but not before giving Tucker a creepy stare.

* * *

Cruelty can go far, especially with the Director. It has been a while since he talked to his agents. "I'm here to give you all a mission." Everyone stays silent, uncertain with the mood. "You are to retrieve Private Isabella Jones. She is to become an important part of the Project, just like all of you. You must get to her before the enemy does."

Agent Carolina nods, as well as the rest.

"I'm up for it," comes York. He has a small limp, and should be resting, but something about that name sounds familiar, as if it was something from his past.

(Flashback)

"_Hey, where are you going?" Isabella asks. Her curly brown hair bounces as she jogs to him._

_He frowns. "To the meeting." _Wait…what meeting?

_She rolls her eyes, as if she gets this frequently. "You're going the wrong way. That way is to Starbucks," she points another way, "__**that**__ way is to the center. Honestly, I know you have a good sense of direction, but your homing signal is always Starbucks. You seriously need to change that."_

"_It's only natural," he shrugs, "that's how __**we**__ are."_

_She can't argue with him there. He's right. That __**is**__ how they are._

(End of flashback)

"You should rest," Carolina frowns.

"I know."

* * *

((Earth))

"I need to find her," Alfred mutters, walking briskly pass his brother. Matthew gives him a look of confusion. He hasn't acted like this for a while.

"Alfred, you should come back inside," he says softly, but Alfred doesn't hear him.

It's Conference day in Washington D.C., and the majority of the nations are there—at least of the Northern Hemisphere. Some of the South did come, but most of them rarely do, unless it's an international crisis.

Matthew grabs his brother's arm, only to look into fierce blue eyes. "Oh!" He gasps, startled.

Arthur Kirkland comes out into the hallway, his large eyebrows furrow over his striking emerald green eyes. "That's enough, you must come in. We have a meeting to attend."

Alfred hesitates, knowing that he has to be in the meeting—he is the host, but he needs to find her before _they_ do. Usually he can just track her, since she is in his sphere, but she decided to take a spontaneous trip to Europe, and he doesn't have one ounce of navigational ability in that continent. He should, but he doesn't.

With one heavy sigh, he goes into the room. Hopefully Ludwig will speed things up.

* * *

Griff frowns, looking in the distance. He sees a figure walking toward their base. He (at least, Griff thinks it's a boy) looks a bit unsteady, as if he's been roaming for a while. The figure collapses. "Simmons, I found someone!" He calls, jogging a short distance to the person.

Simmons comes up a moment later.

"Do you think this is some ploy from the Blues?" Griff asks.

"Now you sound like Sarge," Simmons comments. "Take it to the base, and we'll contact the Blues."

~Blue Base~

"We could name it….Billy," says Caboose, staring at the headless machine intently.

"We are not going to name the thing," Church deadpans.

"Bow-chicka-bow-wow," Tucker cackles.

"Will you shut the fuck up!?" Church glares at Tucker in annoyance. "Oh, hold on," he says as Caboose rambles on names, "What is it?"

"Hello? This is Simmons," coughs a voice.

"Oh, fuck," Church mutters, "What the hell do you want?" It's well enough that he has to be with these two idiots, but now he has to a fucking Red guy. Could his day get any worse?

"We found one of your guys, we're holding it hostage. Ransom."

"All of ours are here. And we also found something. A brown suit with no head." From the other side, he swears that he heard someone yell 'Lopez'. "We're holding it hostage. Ransom."

Simmons groans. "Fine, what do you want."

"Come to the rock, and we'll tell you. And bring the person with you." Church turns off the intercom. "We're going to the rock. Take the thing with you, Caboose."

"His name….is Billy," Caboose says. "Yes. I like the name Billy."

"That's great. Just take…Billy and let's go already."

They walk over to the "rock" at the same time that the Red's get there. "What do you want?" Simmons yells.

"The blue person and I want you to say that the Blue's are better than the Red's." Church nods in approval of his words.

"Fine, but we want Lopez's body back."

"That's unfair, we're calling the calls," Church says in a whiney voice.

"Then you don't get the person or the words," Griff says, struggling with the body.

The Blue's gather in a circle to consider their options. "Deal," Church says.

It's obvious that neither teams know how to make deals, nor bargain. They'd lose all of their money in Spain and Italy. After a moment—and Cabooses reluctance to give up "Billy"—they make the trade. Unlucky for Griff, he had to say the words. If Sarge were there…well, anyway. The Blues make their way back to the base, with the person in hand.

"Will you be my friend?" Caboose asks the still body solemnly.

An hour later, the person wakes up. The whole time, Caboose was watching over it, as an order from Church. "Ow," mumbles the person in the blue armor. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You're awake!" Caboose cheers. He goes over to the person and sits down.

"Who are you?"

"Michael J. Caboose," his voice darkens, "and I hate…babies." The person is speechless. "What's yours?"

"Isabella." She frowns for a moment. "Isabella Jones…I think. But you can call me Bella or Izzy."

"Church! Oh Church! She's up!" Caboose calls. After a moment, they can hear two sets of footprints. He turns back to Isabella with curiosity. "Are you a mean girl or a regular girl?"

Church had the sudden urge to face palm, but luckily for him, he's in a suit. "Caboose," he chastises, "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Caboose looks down in sadness. "That there are no regular girls."

"I'm Church and this is Tucker. You've already met Caboose it seems."

Tucker pushes up front. "Hello sweet thing, are you a tank?"—Church has an uneasy feeling about this—"because your treads are smoking hot." All of the sudden, he finds himself keeling over. "I'm going to die," he groans.

"No," she comments, "you might just be unable to reproduce."

"It's fine…he already had a baby," says Caboose, staring at Tucker with morbid interest.

"Wait, what?"

* * *

So...yeh. The story is a bit rough around the edges so to speak.


	2. Down Came the Rain--FUCK!

**A/N**: Hey guys! I'm not dead! XD So, the tile is Down Came the Rain-FUCK!

I've always dislike spiders, and even though this chapter isn't based on my dislike, I just figured that it would be a good title to name it. I couldn't really think of anything else...Excuse my ramblings ^^;. Also, please visit my homepage, you will see a note about all of my stories on hiatus if you're still wondering about my continuation of them. :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Red vs. Blue nor Hetalia, they go to their respective owners.

* * *

"Do they always argue?" Isabella asks Donut.

She's staring at the two groups arguing in the distance about something that she can't hear, probably something that she doesn't want to hear. Donut seems to be the only person here who's capable of not fighting like beasts and hounds. Even though she can't hear them, she knows that whatever they're arguing about is probably idiotic and has no point. There's a 96.8% chance that whatever they're daft minds came up with is important, and the remaining .1% is actually of importance. The 2.1% can go fuck itself.

Two days have passed since she woke up on the alien planet, and now she has been dragged to the Red's base for who knows what. It's _boring. _The only entertainment is when they're arguing with each other, and that barely holds any substance. If only there were a girl for her to confide her troubles in; Donut is right next to her—he's the closest person that she knows of that has feminine…qualities—but he doesn't carry the same persona as a girl would have. She looks up at the sky with a groan. The sky is still blue and there's no rain in sight; it's as if the grass magically water themselves. Eyeing the suspicious green blades, she shifts to her right, off the grass, just in case something from the grass decides to attack her...one can never be so sure on this alien planet.

"It's a day by day thing," he waves off. "Nothing big."

"So...this"—she gestures to the upside-down Warthog—"is completely normal."

He nods a bit too enthusiastically. "Totally. If they didn't have their little fights, then we wouldn't be Red vs Blue. We'd be just two teams with two bases, just there. That's why we must fight each other."

She frowns, feeling a headache coming on. What he just said makes no sense, just like his pink armor. "Who else has been here?"

"Sister-she's Grif's sister and Sarge's daughter, but shhhh..." He lowers his voice, "Grif doesn't know that yet. Then there's Doc, our pacifist who is a medic. There's Sarge who's the leader of the Red team too, and then there's the Freelancers. There's Tex, Washington-"

"Wait. They're named after states?" Her eyebrows furrow at that piece of information, tucking it into the file cabinet in her mind. She remembers when her brothers and sisters left, and when she does see them, they're like a totally different person. Are they here right now? Caroline? Is she here? She feels the tugging in her head increase. "Alfred," she groans, clutching her head, as if trying to convey a message to a nonexistent person.

Donut stares at her in confusion. "Like, whatever," he says. Something about that tone throws her off, as if she heard it before in some distant memory.

"You've...you all came from somewhere, right?"

He slowly nods. "Yeh. I came from the wonderful country of America—but that's where we all are from, isn't it?" He continues on, not letting her get a word on edgewise. "But barely everyone talks about their past stay, except Doc. He says he's from Idaho...or something. Maybe it was Iowa."

((Flashback))

"Dudes MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Yells Alfred, grinning, his arm slung around a slightly annoyed Brit. The short man tries to escape the taller's grasp in futile desperation.

"True that," laughs Abbey. She's wearing jeans and a red shirt swirled in letters 'naughty or nice.' In her hand is eggnog, poured into an elegant, crimson, crystal glass. "Hey? Where's Peachy?"

"Here," says Melanie, giving her sister an amused look. "Peachy? Really?" Peachy was the nickname Abbey and Joe gave Melanie after they found out her state's national fruit. It was irritating at first, but she got used to it.

"Yo bro, get with the flow," she retorts in a heavy southern accent. "Y'all should come down to Florida sometime. Sunny weather—better than the horror of the cold."

"Says the one whose people don't know what snow is," Isabella shoots back at her with a triumphant look at her sister's insulted expression. The doorbell rings and she gets up to get it. "Hello Michael. Merry Christmas!"

Michael gives her a tired smile, his dark eyes tired and worn. "Merry Christmas Bella." His usually clean brown hair is more raggedy, similar to the look when he came on Thanksgiving. He steps, looking around the house. "Nothing changed much," he comments, making her flush.

Stairs, whose wooden rails are wrapped in tinsel, welcome guests with red carpeting fanning down the steps, flowing with the staircase in a clean fashion. A crystal chandelier hangs with white glitter and light, suspended from the high ceiling, reflecting the natural light in scattered rainbows from the tall window above the door in streaks. To the left, a wooden mahogany table is situated with a white, silver ornamented cloth, topped with sweet and rich smelling food. All of the windows have dark velvet drapes, matching with the soft toned walls. He looks over her shoulder and sees Abbey boisterously talking with Melanie and Joe, her mouth going a hundred of miles per hour. There's a dark, evergreen tree, sparkling with ornaments and an angel on top.

"How are you?" She asks.

"Could be better." His voice is curt.

They stand in awkward silence. "Where were you?" She asks this every time she sees him.

"Top secret," he replies curtly, making her sigh in annoyance. The answer is always the same.

Something inside her suddenly snaps. "You, Caroline, Mason and everyone else don't tell us anything! What is more important than family?! What's so important that you can't tell us about?" The majority of the people around them just stare with sympathetic expressions. "It's like you don't even care about us! You _deserted _us! Your _people_!" She's glaring at a crystal vase behind him, so hard that it seems it might explode from her high-strung emotion.

"I'm sorry," he says. His voice sounds strained.

"Just tell me one thing"—his face twists in a pained expression and she resists the pounding urge to cry in frustration—"where's Frank?"

Frank DuFresne missed Thanksgiving and a note came to her house that said in type that he's unable to attend. Others waved it off, but she knows that it has something to do with whatever the 'top secret' thing is. And she's frustrated that she isn't even allowed to know whatever the hell is going on with the others. Don't they even trust her?

"I'm sorry, I don't know," he says evasively, making her eyes narrow. He looks away from her prompting eyes, staring at anything but her. He ducks out to the foyer and starts a conversation with Sophia Hansen.

((End of flashback))

She inwardly shudders at the memory, her eyes darkening at the conversation. Shaking it off, she asks inquisitively, trying to keep her voice light, "Does Doc visit often?"

Donut pauses for a moment in thought. "He should be here tomorrow. Just a short checkup on everyone."

Her heart beats wildly under her suit. If it's Frank, then she can tell Alfred. He won't have to worry any longer. Maybe Doc will tell her what's going on around here. But first, she needs to talk to Donut.

"Who are these Freelancers? What do they do?" Her voice is slightly hesitant.

He shrugs. "They do whatever they're assigned and paid to do."

"Shut the fuck up," yells a loud voice, louder than before. Isabella cringes. "Jesus!" Church stomps towards them with Caboose tailing him like a puppy.

"Church," Caboose whines, "why can't she stay?" If he weren't wearing a mask, there would be a pout and puppy dog eyes directed at Church.

"I second that," Tucker says striding towards Isabella.

"Are you talking about me," she asks in suspicion, wondering what they're up to.

"No. Caboose found another fucking alien in this fucking messed up planet and decided to keep it hidden." He turns to Caboose. "Do you know how fucking messed up that is? Tucker got fucking preggo because some alien decided to knock him up."

"But...she'll be alone..." Caboose says.

"How do you know it's a she?!"

"She told me," he says solemnly. "Her name is Penelope...and she's my friend."

"Take it back."—he continues on, ignoring Caboose's insistent whine—"its mother might be missing it. You took it from its family." He highly doubts that it even has a mother, but all things—no matter how weird it might be—has to come from somewhere, and this is the closest thing he could think of right now as a reason for Caboose to take it back.

"Fine," Caboose says morosely.

-earth-

"What do you mean he won't pick up?" Arthur is on the phone with the Prime Minister and ever since four days ago he hasn't heard from the damn Yankee. Something's going on; he's seen Alfred like this before, and he knows that it's not good. Ivan won't tell him anything, which is irritating because Alfred is _supposed_ to tell him everything—not the freak of nature! "Bloody hell."

With quick haste, the Brit calls for a direct flight to Russia as he walks to his car. The sky is slightly cloudy, reflecting the mood of Great Britain. He wrings is hands anxiously as he chauffeur, Mr. Chaplin, drives him to the airport. Arthur already wrote a note to his aide, quickly explaining what he's doing, where he's going, and how it's all the stupid American's fault.

Alfred's been acting weird the last time he saw the American—more silent and serious. Something happened and by the looks of it, similar to when Iowa went missing. It must be what has been in the classified envelope he saw years ago.

It was on a Tuesday, and Arthur decided to visit the Yankee—for better for worse. But that's beside the point. Alfred wasn't home, so he went to the office, just in slight curiosity of what Ivan and he were talking about the other day in low voices at the end of the meeting. He found a manila folder with large red letters "Top Secret" and was able to read small snippets of it before Alfred came home; he barely got enough data to understand the topic in the folder, but he got enough to know it's something dangerous.

It's called Project Freelancer—something to do with some form of artificial intelligence code named AI's, placed into humans with enhanced armor. But that's about it. He did read something about aliens, but he figures that it has something to do with Tony, but why is Ivan a part of it?

Arthur hasn't spoken about it to anyone—least of all Alfred. Come to think about it...no. It can't be. A state can't revert to human form, can it? It's impossible and very messy—only very advanced technology and magic is able to achieve such an impossible task, and even then it's a long process. It's highly dangerous to. The subject might die, creating chaos in its own sphere and there would be no way to fix it unless they were to adjust territory.

But now that he thinks about it...wait. No. Arthur shakes his head, trying to get such a ridiculous thought out of his head. Alfred would never do that. But something is telling him that might be incorrect. Arthur pushes the uneasy to the back of his mind as he focuses on the scenery of his country.

-blood gulch-

"You sure you know how to use this thing?" Isabella stares at Caboose questioningly, curious to why anyone would trust him with a tank. He'd be the last person she'd give a tank to, other than probably the man in the red armor. His name is Sarge, either that or starch, and he always carries a shotgun with it, rambling on like a mad man about killing and obliterating the Blue team.

Caboose nods enthusiastically. "Yes. Sheila only lets me ride her." As if from afar, she hears Tucker say 'bow chicka bow wow.' Caboose gets the tank ready and fires at...someone.

"SON OF A BITCH!" The figure collapses in a heap.

"You team killing fucktard! Stop killing Church!"

Isabella watches the event unfold as Tucker starts screaming at a very apologetic Caboose. "Guys! What about Church?!" She yells, interrupting them.

Tucker stops his rant and looks at her in surprise. "What about him? He's right there." He points behind her, which is strange because she most definitely sees Church's body lying in front of her.

Just to humor him, she turns around and...sees Church. "Holy macaroni," she gasps at the transparent figure staring at her. "Church?"

"I can explain. I'm a ghost"—Ticker interrupts with a 'no-fucking-shit'—"and I've been possessing a suit of armor, which was conveniently built by Sarge," he says, as if this explains everything that's happening on the messed up planet.

"That's impossible," she breathes as he walks to his fallen body as if it's a daily thing to have one's teammate kill him. "I mean, it's possible to have a displacement of spiritual aura or energy from the mixture of impact and shock, but for someone to be a ghost..." She makes a mental note not to _ever_ tell Alfred about this.

"Yeh. Well, it's a...frequent...occurrence on this fucked up planet," he says, getting up from the ground as a concrete form.

"An anomaly. Does this happen often—to anyone else?" She would be lying if she were to deny that she's not even a slight bit curious to this discrepancy.

"No," he replies, too quickly for her liking, as if he's hiding something.

"Tex became a ghost when she died," Caboose says, missing Church's attempt at trying to avoid the subject.

"Goddammit Caboose!" He curses profusely and shakes his head in aggravation. He sighs, knowing that it's too late. "Tex was killed and she did become a ghost like me, but now she's somewhere else, with another body."

"Ah. Okay." He sounds a bit suspicious, but she waves it off. If he doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't have to. _Yet._

He gives her a look of mild surprise. He was expecting her to harass him on the subject, demanding him to tell her whatever he's trying to hide. "That's it," he asks warily, eyeing her askance.

"Yes," she replies back a smoothly.

"Really?" His voice is hinted with disbelief and slight relief.

"Yeh. Why?"

"I don't know. I thought you'd start asking me about it," he explains, sounding partly guilty for his assumption.

If they could see her face, they would see an evil glint in her eyes and a sly smile. "Don't worry," she drawls with a sarcastic tone thinly placed underneath the reassuring voice, "I won't ask you any questions." She turns away from him, noticing him visibly relax. "I'll just ask Caboose later," she adds as an afterthought, inwardly cheering in triumph when she hears guttural sputtering behind her leaving form.

_Goddammit, _he curses in his head as she literally _skips_ away with a confused Caboose—towards the base.


End file.
